


we get what we think we deserve;

by kinneyb



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: M/M, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-29 03:20:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18770152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneyb/pseuds/kinneyb
Summary: Quentin sacrifices himself in the Mirror Realm to save his friends.But he doesn't die—he just forgets. . . everything. Alice, Eliot, Julia—even how to do simple spells. Everyone is slowly losing hope, but Eliot can't—it's just not an option.





	we get what we think we deserve;

**Author's Note:**

> i uhh worked rly hard on this so..... yeah who doesn't love a good memory loss fic w a happy ending
> 
> ★ please follow me on twitter @ queermight & check out my pinned tweet! ★

The bright lights go through him, but he doesn’t disappear. Or fade away. Just drops to the floor, hitting his head hard enough Alice involuntarily gasps, heart thumping loudly in her chest. The lights slowly damper out. Right before they hit the door.

Penny loosens his grip on her, but he doesn’t let go. Not yet. “What just–why is he okay?” he asks, furrowing his eyebrows together. He sounds relieved, but confused.

Alice laughs, once–on the edge of hysterical. “I don’t know,” she replies, pulling against his grip, “but I need to–I need to…” she doesn’t finish her sentence; she doesn’t need to.

“I…” Penny sounds hesitant, but he eventually nods and lets her go, watching as she rushes to Quentin’s side and crouches, gently touching his face.

She lets out a deep, shuddering breath, looking up at Penny with big, wet eyes. “He’s–he’s breathing,” she says. She looks back down and smiles, just barely.

Penny slowly enters the room–still nervous that this is somehow a trick. When nothing happens, he crosses the room to them. “Okay,” he says, already picking Quentin up.

Alice stands up, looking over every inch of Quentin. “Be careful, okay?”

“I will,” Penny says, uncharacteristically soft. Maybe he hadn’t been a big fan of Quentin in his timeline, but this wasn’t him. This was a different Quentin, who people loved. People like Julia and Alice and Eliot. He adjusts Quentin on his back and starts for the door.

Alice follows after him slowly, never taking her eyes off Quentin.

&

Eliot wakes up a few days later. He expects good news and, well, he gets the truth. That Quentin is okay–he’s breathing on his own, all his tests have come back negative. But he’s not awake.

He nods slowly. He squints at his hands. Eliot has always been pale, but right now he’s as white as a piece of paper.

“But they think he’ll wake up, right?” he asks, glancing at Margo. He’s scared of the answer, but she just smiles and takes his hand, squeezing.

“Yes,” she answers breezily. “Professor Lipson said there’s nothing to suggest he won’t.”

Margo is as confident as ever, a resilient sunflower in the middle of a storm, and Eliot is hit with a sudden burst of love for her. He clears his throat and squeezes her hand back. “You better let me know as soon as he’s awake.”

She smiles, all soft edges, and it’s a new look for her but she pulls it off. “Of course. Now,” she lets go of his hand and grabs the blanket, pulling it back up to his chin, like a mother tucking in her child. “Go back to sleep. You’re injured, too, dummy.”

Eliot rolls his eyes fondly. “Yes, mother.”

Margo gently smacks his chest, careful of his sutures, and sits back. Eliot watches her for a lingering moment, eyes soft. Finally, he dozes off.

He dreams of Quentin. Soft, sweet, stubborn Quentin. He dreams of kissing him, cupping his face. Telling him the truth: turning you down was the worst mistake of my life.

Eliot dreams of being brave.

&

Quentin doesn’t wake up for almost two weeks. Eliot could see it in Margo’s eyes: she was slowly giving up hope, but he couldn’t.

He can’t imagine a world where Quentin doesn’t wake up. So he doesn’t. Even when Margo sits on the bed with him and smiles sadly, saying:

“El, I know we don’t… want to think about–”

He stiffens, glaring at nothing in particular. “So don’t,” he says icily.

Margo frowns, looking like she’s been stung, and he almost feels bad. She’s trying her best. He knows that. He just can’t have this conversation. Not now, not ever. He knows it’s not healthy, but since when has Eliot ever coped healthily?

“Baby,” she says, touching his cheek gingerly. “I can’t lose you, too.”

Eliot can’t look at her. “You won’t,” he says, unconvincingly.

Margo takes a shaky breath and strokes his cheek, once. “I’m going to get a snack or something,” she says, quiet. She stands up and Eliot glances at her just in time to see her putting her mask back on. The mask she always wears for everyone else, but not Eliot. His heart squeezes. She smiles, all fake. “Do you want anything?”

He shakes his head. “But thank you, Bambi,” he says, soft. He hopes she understands. That he loves and appreciates her even if he has trouble expressing that.

Her smile shifts, a little more genuine. “Anytime, darling.”

Eliot watches as she leaves. When he’s alone, he buries his face in his hands and cries. No loud, shaking sobs. Just quiet crying, tears wetting his hands.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been–five minutes, five hours, time has been working kind of funny lately–when Margo returns, throwing the door open. She looks frantic.

He sniffles, wiping roughly at his eyes. “What is it, Margo?” he asks hoarsely.

Margo doesn’t even blink. She runs to his side and grabs his face in her hands. She laughs, once. “He just woke up, Eliot.”

He stares up at her. The words feel… fake, but he knows Margo would never lie about this. His lips twitch. “Is–is he okay?”

“I just saw him for a second,” Margo replies quickly, stroking his face. “But he looked surprisingly good. I’m gonna go see if we can get you a wheelchair. Then we can visit him, okay?”

Eliot nods, speechless. He watches as she races out of the room, a newfound hop in her step. He closes his eyes and takes a shaky breath. He was okay.

Quentin was going to be okay.

&

Margo returns a few minutes later with a wheelchair and–under any other circumstances–he would’ve made a big deal about not needing it, but right now he’d do anything to see Quentin. Even go through the hospital in a wheelchair, Margo talking excitedly behind him.

Not about anything important, really, just general comments about how Quentin would be the one to take Eliot’s spotlight after he's been brutally stabbed in the stomach with magical axes.

He laughs, soft but genuine. Maybe the first real laugh he’s had since waking up. He reaches up, flinching a little from the pain, and squeezes Margo’s hand.

“I love you, Bambi.”

She smiles and leans down just long enough to press a kiss to the top of his head. “I’m the best,” she says, softly. “I know.”

He can’t rightfully argue with that. So he doesn’t–the next few minutes are spent in a comfortable silence, Eliot all but shaking with excitement.

Finally Margo comes to a stop outside a door, gently patting Eliot’s shoulder. “Ready?”

He peers up at her, eyes sparkling.

She doesn’t want for an answer–she doesn’t need one. Margo presses a button to the side of the door, opening it. She pushes him through, and Eliot’s heart squeezes when he sees him: Quentin, as lovely as ever, sitting up and sipping from a small plastic cup.

“Q,” he says, breathless.

Quentin looks up and tilts his head. Eliot can’t help thinking he looks adorable. But then he smiles, and it’s not–it’s not quite right. “You’re Eliot, right?”

Eliot is so confused he doesn’t speak, just stares. That’s when he notices they aren’t alone: Alice is sitting in the chair by Quentin’s bed. Julia is standing in a corner, arms crossed firmly over her chest.

He swallows around the lump in his throat. Margo touches his shoulder as she passes, approaching Quentin slowly. Like she’s afraid of startling him, but.

Quentin doesn’t look scared. Just different. There’s something missing. Eliot’s heart thumps loudly. His palms feel sweaty. So he wipes them off on his hospital gown.

“Q, baby, do you…”

Alice shakes her head. “He doesn’t,” she says quietly, wringing her hands. “He doesn’t remember anything.”

Quentin smiles at Margo and it’s so wrong. Seeing that beautiful smile on a face that just isn’t quite right.

“You must be Margo, though,” he says, nodding like he’s happy with himself for remembering. “Alice, uh, told me about you. About everyone.”

Eliot swallows thickly. He still can’t find words. Margo smiles tightly. “I am,” she says, soft, before looking at Alice. “What exactly did you tell him?”

Alice looks away. “We should talk,” she says standing up. “Outside.”

Eliot watches helplessly as they leave the room, closing the door behind them with a soft _click_. He can’t stand looking at Quentin. Not right now. So he looks at Julia. She looks, well.

Terrible, but he can’t really blame her.

Julia notices after a second, apparently. Her eyes are puffy. “Hey,” she says.

Eliot nods, just barely.

“I’m right here, you know,” Quentin says teasingly. He seems to visibly regret it the second they both look at him, though. “I’m sorry,” he blurts suddenly.

Julia purses her lips. Eliot knows that look on her face all too well: it’s the look of a person barely holding themselves together. “We already told you,” she says quietly. “It’s not your fault.”

Eliot wants to agree, but he can’t. His mouth just won’t work.

The door opens and Margo enters, immediately going to Eliot’s side. Her eyes are damp, and shit. Eliot feels like he’s going to be sick.

“Let’s go, baby,” she says.

He hesitates for just a second, taking in the details of Quentin’s face.

“Okay,” he agrees softly.

&

Alice joins them a few hours later. She looks about as wrecked as he feels. She sits on the edge of Eliot’s hospital bed. Margo is sitting beside Eliot, rubbing his back comfortingly.

“They really–they really don’t know if he’ll ever remember?” Eliot asks. His throat burns from hours of crying.

Margo looks away. Like just the sight of Eliot so broken was too much for her.

“They don’t know,” Alice replies slowly. “They just–they don’t want to give us any false hope.” She sniffs loudly. “He could remember tomorrow or… never.”

Eliot tenses–hard as a rock–under Margo’s hand. Never. Quentin might never remember peaches and plums, motherfucker.

A weird part of him wants to laugh. Because fuck, if this wasn’t almost comical. He’d finally gotten the courage to tell Quentin how he feels. How much he’d fucked up. How he wants him more than he’s ever wanted anything in his life.

And that’s why he had run, because he was scared of just how much he wanted Quentin. Scared of trying and fucking up the one good thing in his life.

(Excluding Margo.)

Margo runs her fingers through his hair. It’s enough to break him out of his thoughts. When his eyes finally focus again, he’s surprised to see Alice staring at him. Surprisingly determined, stoic. She takes a sharp breath.

“I explained everything and everyone,” she says. It’s really just a repeat of what she said earlier, but no one interrupts her. “But I kept… some details out, for Quentin’s sake.”

Margo nods. Eliot just stares back.

“Like what?” she asks, hand stilling in Eliot’s hair.

Alice looks away. “I didn’t tell him about… us.” Eliot’s stomach flips painfully. Right. He’d almost forgotten that Quentin and Alice had gotten back together. It seems like such a trivial fact now. So unimportant, but when Margo had first told him it’d been like a stab to his heart.

“I also… didn’t tell him about you,” she continues after a second, looking up at Eliot.

He blinks. Once, twice. “But he–”

“I told him about you as a person,” she interrupts. “But I kept the details of your… relationship out of the conversation.”

He tenses, just a little. “What are you talking about?” he asks, carefully neutral.

“I’m not an idiot, Eliot,” she says, surprisingly soft. “I know you two weren’t just… friends.”

Margo’s hand drops to Eliot’s shoulder. He doesn’t need to look to know her face is probably contorted into a curious, vaguely hurt expression. “What is she talking about?”

“I’ll explain…” Eliot mutters. “Later.”

Alice smiles tightly. “I’m not here to… say anything cruel, Eliot. Or fight over him. He’s not even–he’s not even the Quentin we both love right now.” Pursing her lips, she looks down and shrugs pitifully. “I don’t know if he’ll ever be that Quentin again.”

Eliot leans against Margo, needing the comfort. She sighs lightly and rubs his back, slow soothing circles.

“I just don’t think it’s… right of us,” Alice continues, lifting her head, “to tell him about me. Or you. He’ll be influenced by memories that aren’t even his own.”

Eliot wants to tell her to fuck off. But he can’t. Because he understands where she’s coming from. Quentin wouldn’t love them, but a memory of them. A memory that isn’t even his own. Not right now.

Margo, however, apparently doesn’t feel the same way. She glares, eyes glowing with fire. “We don’t have to do what you say,” she says.

And Eliot know she’s doing it for him, which just makes the next words even harder to say. “She’s right, Margo.”

She stiffens, ducking her head to look him in the face. “Eliot, you don’t have to–”

“I know,” he basically whispers. “But I think… I think it’s the right thing to do.”

Alice smiles tightly and places a hand on Eliot’s leg, gentle and warm. She squeezes, just barely. “I love him, Eliot, I won’t deny that, but. I really hope he regains his memories and we both get the closure we deserve. Until then,” her eyes glisten with tears, “we’ll all be there for him. As friends.”

&

Eliot should be able to do this. He’d been friends with Quentin for so long, never expecting anything more, but it’s not easy. It’s the hardest thing he’s ever had to do, sitting with Quentin and helping him learn simple spells he’s forgotten.

He wants so desperately to reach out and grasp his hands, holding them as he leans forward and kisses him. He doesn’t, of course, but the thought is so distracting he barely registers when Quentin gently pokes him in the leg.

“You okay?” he asks.

Quentin will always be Quentin, memories or not. Sweet Quentin with his concerned eyes, crinkling around the corners. Eliot swallows thickly and clears his throat.

“Sorry, I think I’m kind of–” he trails off with a shrug. “I haven’t been getting much sleep.”

Quentin leans back, frowning. “Because of me.” It’s not a question. Eliot does reach out now, touching his arm in what he hopes is a comforting but friendly gesture. Quentin looks up and smiles sadly. “Everyone is so… sad and I can’t blame them. I just–I wish I could make it stop. I wish I could remember.”

Eliot feels his heart throb almost painfully. He wants to fix this. Not just for him, but for Quentin, too. Quentin, who always thinks of everyone else. Even when he’s the one in the hospital, dark bags under his eyes, unable to remember anything. Like a curse.

“We’ll…. find a way,” he says, nodding, “to get through this.” He clears his throat. “All of us.”

Quentin smiles, a little less sad. His eyes shine with tears. “Alice said you were known to be… kind of pessimistic.” He tilts his head, hair falling in his face. “But you don’t really seem that way.”

Eliot laughs sharply, pulling his hand away. He shrugs. “Well, you’re dealing with enough right now. You don’t need my pessimism on top of everything.”

“Fair enough,” Quentin laughs lightly.

They spend the next few hours practicing spells and talking, catching up.

“I have a question,” Quentin says suddenly. “It’s very important.”

Eliot drops his hands. “Okay,” he says slowly.

Quentin stares at him, oddly serious. Eliot swallows around the lump in his throat. He knows they agreed, but… if Quentin asked him outright, could he lie and say they were only ever just friends?

“Pineapple on pizza or no?”

Eliot blinks. Once, twice. He laughs sharply. “That’s–that is a very important question,” he agrees. “Yes.”

Quentin gasps dramatically. “How does a man with such good taste enjoy pineapple on pizza?” he tsks.

But Eliot is focused on–

“You think I have good taste?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

Quentin points at his silk top. Margo had brought it for him a few days ago. “It’s nice,” he says simply.

Eliot grins, eyes sparkling. “How do you feel about vests?”

“I…” he shrugs, scratching his cheek. “They kind of all look the same to me, honestly.”

Eliot remembers a conversation almost identical to this from a long, long time ago. His heart thumps loudly.

No matter what happens, Quentin would always be Quentin and that’s. That was what was important. As long as he was here, Eliot could be happy.

&

Margo tells them they’re both going home a couple days later. She’s excited. Eliot is excited, too, but then he sees Quentin’s face and his excitement dulls.

Alice is in the room, too, helping Quentin pack his things. If she picks up on Quentin’s expression, she doesn’t say anything.

He waits until Alice leaves the room–“I got to go the bathroom”–before he approaches Quentin, sitting.

“Is everything okay?”

Quentin shrugs weakly, wiping at his eyes.

Eliot smiles, just barely. “Come on,” he gently nudges the other man with his elbow, “you can tell me. No judgment.” He places a hand over his heart. “I swear.”

That gets just the smallest hint of a smile out of Quentin, which is a win in Eliot’s books. He stares at his feet. “I feel like, uh. Alice thinks if I see the–Cottage, right?–that it might trigger something.”

Eliot nods. “And you’re…”

“I’m scared of disappointing people if it doesn’t,” he admits softly, picking at his nails. “I feel like if this doesn’t do something, everyone will, like, give up.”

Eliot is hit with a sudden burst of emotion. He slips to the floor in front of Quentin, grabbing his hands. His wound stings a little from the movement, but he promptly ignores it.

“I can’t speak for other people,” he says, looking up at Quentin, “but I swear I will never give up on you.”

Quentin looks surprised for just a moment before he relaxes and nods, eyes softening. “But what if that is… exactly we all need to do?”

“I–” Eliot shakes his head. “I don’t understand.”

Quentin shrugs, smiling sadly. “Maybe the best thing we could all do is just… give up. On this idea that hopefully one day, if I’m lucky, my memories will come back. That’s–that’s not how I want to live my life. Always waiting, hoping.”

Eliot takes a deep, shuddering breath. He doesn’t know what to say; his throat feels impossibly dry.

“Okay,” he eventually whispers. He blinks back the tears. “Okay, if that’s–if that’s what you want.”

Quentin smiles down at him. So, so genuine and warm. His stomach flips painfully. He had been hoping naively like Alice and Julia because he simply couldn’t face the alternative. That their Quentin might really be gone. Forever.

&

Eliot watches silently as Alice and Quentin practice tuts. Quentin’s form is a little off, but he’s a fast learner. Like always. He might never have been the most naturally gifted, but he always tried his best and learned quickly with the right teachers. He’s mostly been bugging Eliot and Alice to teach him.

He tries not to think too much about that.

Margo pets Eliot’s hair lovingly. “You should’ve told me,” she says lightly. “About everything. I mean,” she shrugs, tucking a dark curl behind Eliot’s ear, “I always knew you liked him, but I never knew… it was this serious. Or that he liked you back.”

He watches as Quentin laughs, throwing his head back. Alice rolls her eyes fondly. He wonders what would’ve happened if–if Eliot had come back and Quentin would’ve remembered. If they’d be kissing right now or if Quentin would’ve realized he really was better off with Alice. Beautiful, smart Alice. His eyes burn with the promise of tears and it’s not even four pm yet.

He feels pathetic.

Eliot doesn't tell Alice–or anyone–about what Quentin said that day in the hospital. And from what he could tell, Quentin hasn’t told anyone else.

“I wanted to–I don’t know. Have a fair chance with him. I faced my fears when I was stuck in my own head,” he’s not really talking to Margo, just voicing his thoughts. “I thought that I could come back and not sweep him off his feet, exactly, but just tell him my honest feelings and that things could go back to that moment. The moment I rejected Quentin. I don’t know.” Eliot laughs wetly. “It’s stupid.”

Margo coos softly. “Is not, you big baby,” she says, all love. “You love him and you wanted him to know that. There’s nothing stupid about that.”

“Remember when we were younger?” Eliot asks, looking up at her. “And thought love was the dumbest concept in the whole world. And that we’d only ever need each other.” He smiles sadly. “I miss that.”

Margo hums and leans down, kissing his forehead. “You’re only saying that because love is difficult right now,” she says breezily.

He reaches up and cups her face. “I love you, Bambi.”

“I love you, too, baby.” Her eyes flicker up. “Hey, Q.”

Eliot stiffens, just a little, as he turns and stares up at Quentin. He smiles down at him sheepishly. “Alice is, uh, taking a break. I was wondering if you’d be up for… teaching me some stuff.”

Margo doesn’t wait for an answer. She simply pushes Eliot off her lap. “He’d love to,” she says, patting his back. “Right?”

He glares at her, but there’s no real heat there. He sighs after a moment and looks at Quentin, his heart aching painfully with want. “Sure.”

Quentin scrambles to block the way when Eliot starts to head to the table he’d been using with Alice. He shrugs, smiling casually. But it’s not–it’s obviously forced. Eliot raises an eyebrow.

“I was wondering if we could, uh, study in your room.” He licks his lips, and Eliot looks away. “Less interruptions.”

He doesn’t say anything–just nods jerkily.

They ascend the stairs and go to Eliot’s room. He paces the room, flipping on his lights manually. He could use magic hypothetically, sure, but he kind of needed the distraction.

Quentin sits on his bed gingerly. He stares longingly at the pictures on Eliot’s desk.

Smiling sadly, Eliot picks up a picture and walks over, sitting beside him. It’s a picture of Quentin and Eliot. They look ridiculous, but happy. Eliot remembers Margo taking it, laughing and telling them how to pose, but Quentin obviously does not.

Eliot feels angry. He feels sad. He feels _bitter_.

“Can I ask something?”

Eliot quirks an eyebrow. “Depends,” he says. “Is it about pizza toppings again?”

Quentin smiles, just a hint. “No.”

“Then yes,” Eliot replies, smiling back.

Quentin looks away. “You and Margo… you’re not, like, together, right?”

Eliot is so surprised he can’t answer for the first five seconds. But then he’s laughing and clapping Quentin on the back. It’s a bit too much of a jock-y move, though, so he quickly stops. “No,” he gasps through the laughter. “We’re just friends. Best friends.” He smiles warmly. “I consider her my platonic soulmate,” he says proudly, “because fuck the idea your soulmate has to be romantic.”

“That’s,” he smiles, scrunching his nose up in a way that is oh so adorably Quentin, “really sweet actually.”

Eliot nods. He watches Quentin curiously for a prolonged second, thinking. “Why do you ask?”

“You guys just seem so close,” Quentin replies breezily, picking at a loose strand hanging from his sweater. “I’m kind of–jealous, I guess.”

Eliot smiles sadly. Thinks of Julia. She would do anything for Quentin. But it means nothing if he can’t remember her. Or their bond. Or all the times she went out of her way to protect him and keep him safe. He leans his weight against Quentin. “So did you really want me to teach you more spells?”

Quentin laughs sheepishly. “Not really.”

“Okay,” he nods, leaning back on the bed. “Got any other burning questions?”

Quentin joins him, and he’s close–almost too close, their faces mere inches apart. Eliot can feel Quentin’s breath on his cheek, slow and steady. Eliot shivers and hopes Quentin can’t tell. If he does, he doesn’t say anything.

“Do you?” Quentin asks.

Eliot snaps out of his thoughts. He swallows thickly. Distracts himself by staring at a mole on Quentin’s neck. He remembers, through a foggy haze, kissing that mole in a tiny, homey cottage. He swallows again–bad distraction. Very bad distraction. He closes his eyes.

“Do I what?”

Quentin shrugs, jarring the bed just a little. “Have someone you like–romantically? Alice was really… vague on that topic, like she was hiding something.”

Eliot opens his eyes, unable to stop himself. He wishes, more than ever, he could kiss Quentin. But he doesn’t. He smiles sadly. “I do,” he says quietly.

“They’re very lucky, then,” Quentin says, rolling onto his back. “Everyone has been, like, super nice. Helpful, too, but you…”

Eliot can’t take it. He can’t hear such nice words out of Quentin’s mouth. Not under these circumstances. He sits up. “Sorry, I need to, uh–yeah.” He races out of the room and takes a few deep, shuddering breaths. This should’ve been getting easier. It wasn’t. For Eliot, each day was only getting harder.

&

It’s been three months and Quentin still hasn’t remembered anything.

Eliot can tell everyone has given up hope–even sweet Julia, and stubborn Alice–but he doesn’t. He can’t.

&

Alice barges into Eliot's room without so much as a knock and he scrambles to throw a blanket over his very naked body. He raises an eyebrow, more amused than anything.

"Did you want to see my dick?" he asks lightly. "Because you could've just asked."

Alice doesn't even blink–she just plops on Eliot's bed with a book. "I don't think Quentin has memory loss," she says in way of a greeting, dropping the book on the bed, too, and pointing insistently. He doesn't know why but those words, even if they are just that–words, fill him with such warmth. Hope.

But he can't. Not if this is just Alice grasping at straws. "What are you talking about?"

Alice sighs heavily. She pulls the book back to her. "I thought it was... strange that nothing happened to Quentin in the Mirror Realm. He cast, Eliot, that's–that's against the rules or whatever." She squints, thinking. "And I saw the lights go through him. But I think I was wrong. I think the lights did hurt him–they wiped his memory."

Eliot wants to push the thought away because no hope is better than hoping and failing, but she's actually kind of making sense. He swallows thickly. "So–so this is what? Like a curse? Do you think we can undo it?"

"I don't know," she admits sheepishly. "But I've been studying and the Mirror Realm is like... it's a trick–all of it." Alice sighs, sitting back. "This is going to sound... so stupid, but I think Quentin is the only person who can break it."

Eliot stares at her. "What do you mean? How?"

Alice looks up, just barely. "From what I'm reading, this is–oddly like you with the monster." Eliot stiffens at the mention of the monster. Alice notices and reaches out, squeezing his arm in what she obviously means to be a comforting gesture. He smiles tightly. "His memories weren't wiped, but trapped. They're still in there, somehow–buried. We could try a few things I've found, but..."

"You don't think they'll work," Eliot says dryly.

Alice shrugs pitifully. "I think he needs to want to remember. More than he's ever wanted anything in his life, and–" she looks away, eyes watering. "I can't blame him if he doesn't. Who would want to remember so much pain and misery and–"

"Quentin would," Eliot interrupts. "He would do anything to remember us, Alice. Don't–" he reaches out and finds her hand, squeezing. "Do not doubt that for a second, okay?"

She smiles sadly. "If all of this is true about the Mirror Realm and the trickery of it all, we can't tell him about this. He has to–" she sniffles, wiping at her eyes roughly. "He has to figure everything out on his own. He can't be coerced."

Eliot sits with her, their shoulders touching. They don't say anything for a long time.

"He'll remember," he says eventually, all fake confidence. "He has to."

Alice looks over at him. She laughs wetly. "I hope so," she nods. "I really do."

&

Eliot can barely look at Quentin now without feeling sick, and he hates it–hates the universe for making looking at the man he loves something terrible and haunting. He thought hope would be a good thing, but now as he watches Quentin practicing a spell with Margo (an oddity, really) he can't help wishing he didn't know.

"Okay," Margo sighs dramatically. "I give up! You're helpless, Quentin Coldwater."

Margo stands up and shakes her head, all for the show, before heading to the kitchen. Quentin looks over at Eliot. He smiles sheepishly. "Wanna help?"

He should say no because God, he can't take this right now. But Eliot has never been good at saying no to Quentin. So he stands up and joins Quentin at the table. "What spell are you learning?" he asks lightly.

Quentin points at a piece of paper on the table. "How to levitate items." He frowns. "It's supposedly a super simple spell, but I just can't–I can't do it." He sighs, looking dejected. "Alice told me she knows I can do it. I'm assuming that means I could–before all this."

"I..." he clears his throat. "You were really talented."

Which was true. Quentin wasn't naturally talented like Eliot or Alice, or even Margo, but he was talented. He just had to work a little harder than the others.

Quentin smiles, just a hint. "Thank you," he says, scrunching his nose. "But sadly that means nothing for current me."

Eliot's stomach flips painfully. "Right," he looks down at the paper. "Let's see..."

&

Julia approaches Eliot a few days later. She looks better, but somehow still terrible. Her hair is pulled back in a bun and her makeup is smudged messily.

"Did Alice tell you?"

She's standing in the doorway to his bedroom, arms folded over her chest.

Eliot looks up. He nods mutely.

"I–" she looks away. "I want to be mad. That she told you before me, but honestly I'm just too tired for anger right now."

Eliot scoots over, patting the spot beside him gingerly. Julia stares at him for a lingering moment before joining him, crossing her legs.

"I don't think she hid it from you because she wanted to," he says quietly. "You're just–you're a lot like him, Julia. You're stubborn and I know the second I found out, I wanted to do something. Like feed him all these memories in hopes that maybe one would do something, I don't know. Crack the spell, but we can't." He stares at the wall, eyes watering. "We have to–"

Julia grabs his hand suddenly, squeezing. Eliot is suddenly reminded of a memory from long ago–Julia on a couch, her eyes vacant and glassy. He shudders.

"I know you think I've given up," she says, stubborn as ever, "but I haven't."

Eliot nods. "I'm glad," he says, soft. "Because I don't think I ever can." He looks at her–she's a little blurry through the tears. "Give up on him, I mean."

Julia smiles sadly and hugs him. He buries his face in her hair and starts to sob.

She joins him not long after.

&

"Josh is coming back," Margo announces one day. "He wants to see you, Quentin," she says, smiling softly. "And he also wants to host a huge celebratory meal–to celebrate that we're all here. A little tattered, sure, but here."

Eliot smiles, just a hint. Mostly because Quentin perks up at the news like a dog, his hair flopping like ears.

"Josh?" he asks. "I remember Alice mentioning him. He's, uh... in a place called Fillory, right?"

It's so fucked up, Eliot thinks, that Quentin doesn't even remember Fillory.

"Yes," Margo answers breezily, patting his head like he was, indeed, a dog. "And you two weren't super close, but you're both nerdy little white boys, so." She smirks, and Quentin just laughs. And Eliot wants to be happy. At least for the night. Truly, so he forces a smile and nudges Quentin with his foot.

"You should ask him to make pineapple pizza," he says airily.

Quentin laughs sharply, and it's the most beautiful sound in the world.

"Fuck off," he teases, eyes sparkling.

Quentin has been looking a lot happier lately. He seems less stiff, like he's finally finding his place in their group again.

Eliot wonders why the thought of that just makes him even sadder.

&

Josh shows up a few days later. "The kitchen is my domain and my domain only for the next couple of days," he says, puffing his chest out. "No one may–"

"Oh, shut up," Margo interrupts breezily. She pinches his arm. "You should have Quentin help you. You two can catch up."

Josh looks at Quentin. "Wanna help, buddy?"

He's basically vibrating in his chair with excitement. "Yes," he says. "They won't let me near the kitchen. Apparently I'm a terrible cook."

"That's true," Eliot says from his spot near the window, barely looking up from his laptop. "You set off the fire alarm once making a quesadilla."

Josh clicks his tongue disapprovingly. "I have so much to teach you, young grasshopper," he says, patting Quentin on the back. "Come."

&

Eliot is asleep when Margo throws the door open and jerks him awake. He barely manages to catch his laptop before it falls to the floor, scrambling upright. "Margo, what the–"

"Eliot," she says, and he recognizes that urgent look from the hospital. His stomach flips painfully. "Quentin, he–he passed out in the kitchen and he's not–he's not waking up. I called Alice and the others. They're on their way, but–"

He jumps up, tossing his laptop on the couch and grabs his cane. "It's okay, Bambi," he says, but he's not sure he believes the words himself. "Come on, let me see him. I'm sure he's fine."

Quentin is fine, Quentin _has_ to be fine, he's probably just tired or something but he's fine. His mind won't shut up, replaying the words over and over again like a mantra. When he enters the kitchen, he sees Quentin propped up against the fridge. And he looks–Eliot can't say the word, but then he sees his chest rise and fall and nearly collapses with relief. "He's alive," he says, mostly to the air.

Josh is by his side. "But he won't wake up," he says. "We've tried everything."

"It's okay," Eliot says, and he almost believes it because he's breathing. Quentin is breathing and that's all that truly matters. He kneels on the floor in front of him and looks him over quickly with a spell, but there's nothing. No signs of anything. "Alice–she might know something," he says with a jerky nod.

Margo stands a few feet away, wringing her hands nervously.

"What..." Eliot sits down, pressing up against Quentin's side. "What exactly happened, Josh?"

Josh looks at him and takes a few shaky breaths. "We were working on making a fruit parfait when he started to, like, say weird shit. And I could tell something was wrong. I asked him, but he just looked at me and then..." he gestures lamely at Quentin's motionless body. "I don't know what happened, honestly."

Margo steps a little closer. Her hand accidentally catches on a basket on the table and fruit–all different kinds–go tumbling to the floor, rolling in a dozen different directions. She curses under her breath and leans down to pick them up, but Eliot stops her just as a peach rolls to a stop near his foot. His heart thumps loudly in his chest.

"Josh," he says slowly, staring at the piece of fruit. "What did he say?"

Josh looks at him curiously. "Uh, something about like... peaches and plums." He shrugs. "I told you–weird shit, man."

He laughs once, startling both Margo and Josh. But he can't stop once he starts. He laughs and laughs, relief bubbling in his chest like a drug. He looks at Quentin, eyes watering. Peaches and plums, motherfucker.

&

"I think he remembers," Eliot says after Professor Lipson has left.

_["He's going to be fine," she says, putting her stuff away._

_Eliot is sitting on the table in the living room, staring at Quentin's face as he sleeps peacefully on the couch. He looks different somehow, but he can't tell if he's just imagining it or not._

_"Really?" Julia asks hopefully._

_"Yes," she answers breezily. "He seems to just be sleeping. Call me if anything changes."]_

No one says anything for a long time.

"How do you know?" Alice asks softly.

Eliot can't stop staring at Quentin's face–he looks so peaceful, like he's just taking a nap after a long day. He reaches out and tucks some hair behind his ear. "I just do," he whispers.

He hopes he isn't wrong. He can't be wrong–not after peaches and plums.

"I don't think we should all be here," Kady says. She looks awkward–out of her element. "When he wakes up, I mean."

Penny nods quickly, like he's been waiting for someone else to say it. "He'll probably be, like, overwhelmed," he agrees.

"I don't think–" Alice stares at Quentin, eyes soft and caring and wet. "I don't think that's a bad idea," she says quietly. "We'll stay," she reaches out and places a hand on Eliot's shoulder, Julia's waist. "You guys can go. We'll let you know when everything is..." she trails off–she doesn't have the right words.

Kady squeezes Alice's shoulder, once, before walking off with Penny and Josh.

&

When Quentin wakes up, Julia is in the bathroom. A cruel joke, Eliot thinks, but he can't help being grateful he isn't. Quentin blinks once before groaning and that's when they both notice he's awake. They're both at his side in seconds–Alice grasping his hand just a little too tightly, Eliot running his fingers through his hair.

"Q?" he asks.

Quentin looks up at them. Stares for a long moment, before–

"I've really fucking missed you guys."

Alice laughs wetly, squeezing his hand. "We missed you, too."

"I never gave up hope," Eliot says because he said he was going to be brave. "Even when you told me to, Q, I never stopped believing you'd come back."

Quentin stares up at him, and the fondness in his eyes is almost too much for Eliot to bear. "I know," he whispers, smiling softly. "I still remember everything, you know. I was still me–just... lacking some very," he squeezes Alice's hand, "important memories."

Eliot nods, suddenly wishing he was the one holding Quentin's hand but he knows he's just being selfish. They all missed Quentin–not just him. Julia comes back a few minutes later and breaks down sobbing on Quentin's chest as he pets her hair.

"It's me," he says, soft. "It's me, Jules, I'm here."

Alice and Eliot give them some privacy.

&

Alice finds Eliot a few hours later, wringing her hands nervously. "I just finished having a talk with Quentin," she says, face damp with tears. His heart squeezes painfully. "I, um–I'm glad he has you," she continues after a moment. "I mean, I... I–more than anything–wish I was the one... but I'm not. Not anymore."

"I didn't–" Eliot looks away. "I never meant to–"

She steps closer. "I know," she says, wiping at her face furiously. "And I can't blame people for who they love. It's obviously not a choice." She smiles tightly. "Or, trust me, I'd be zapping away my feelings for Q right now without a second thought."

Eliot smiles sadly. He takes her hand and squeezes, once. "No, you wouldn't," he whispers.

"I–" she laughs wetly. "You're right," she nods. "I wouldn't."

&

Eliot takes a deep breath and knocks. He doesn't have to wait long for an answer.

"Eliot?" Quentin asks so, so hopefully. His heart thumps loudly in his chest as he opens the door, and Quentin beams–literally beams–at him, eyes sparkling with so much love and fondness and adoration. Eliot almost turns away and closes the door, too overwhelmed, because this is everything he's ever wanted and he's so scared of fucking everything up. "Did, uh–did Alice–"

He nods, once, closing the door behind him with a gentle _click_. "She told me. You two..."

"We–we broke up," Quentin finishes, looking dejected. "I really did love her, you know. In the beginning, but this... this was just me being selfish, and she deserves better."

Eliot slowly crosses the room and sits on the edge of Quentin's bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. "What do you mean?" he asks quietly. Because he wants to believe that Quentin still loves him. He wants to be brave, but he's terrified. Saying you'll do something while you're in the safe comfort of your own head and actually doing it are two totally different things.

"I didn't know..." Quentin swallows thickly and looks up, just barely. "I didn't know if we'd ever get you back, El." He licks his lips. "And I think I was scared of–of what would happen or what I would do if–if we didn't."

Eliot scoots a little closer and places a hand on Quentin's leg, warm and comforting. Quentin smiles, sniffling.

"I thought if I was with Alice, maybe–maybe things would be okay. Maybe she could... keep me from feeling so hopeless." He looks away. A single tear rolls down his cheek, and Eliot's fingers twitch, wanting–more than anything–to reach up and wipe it away. But he's still not sure. So he waits. "But that's so fucking selfish of me." He laughs wetly. "I knew she'd never be able to fix things, but I thought–I don't know. She could make the pain more... tolerable."

Eliot squeezes his leg, once. "She does deserve better," he says softly.

Quentin finally looks at him again, and nods pitifully. "She does," he agrees without missing a beat. "But I do, too–I deserve to be with someone who I love, who loves me." He glances at Eliot's hand. "I never used to think that, but now–now I do. I deserve," he looks up again, surprisingly fierce. "I deserve to be happy."

"You–" Eliot laughs, a little wet. "You do."

Quentin nods–a sharp, jerky movement. He maintains eye contact with Eliot, bottom lip trembling. Eliot wants to look away, but he doesn't. "I won't chase after you anymore," he says, swallowing thickly. "If you tell me right now that this–" he gestures, just barely, between them "–will never be anything, I'll move on. Maybe not soon or... or easily, but I will. Eventually. Because I–I deserve better than chasing after someone like a desperate dog, begging for scraps of affection."

"You do," Eliot says breezily, because it's the truth. Quentin deserves better. He deserves to be happy and loved and appreciated. He scoots closer still, their knees knocking together. "I had a lot of time to think," he says, soft, "when I was stuck inside my own head, Q, and I realized... I'm scared all the time."

Quentin doesn't interrupt. He just nods and finds Eliot's hand, squeezing comfortingly.

"I'm always scared of losing the few good things I have in my life. Margo." He smiles, small but sincere. " _You._ " Eliot turns his hand over, intertwining their fingers. "I thought I'd be okay just being friends because–because I'd rather be friends than risk losing you or making you hate me or–" he swallows around a sob, eyes watering.

Quentin smiles sadly. "I could never hate you, Eliot," he whispers.

"I know," Eliot laughs wetly. "I know that realistically, but my mind–it's–"

"Broken?" he suggests lightly. "Because been there, done that. I understand, Eliot," he smiles, just a little. "I think we've always understood each other in a way no one else can," he continues. "And not just because we lived an entire lifetime together," he says through the tears, somewhat jokingly.

Eliot finally gets up the courage to reach out and wipe some of the tears from Quentin's face. Quentin leans into the touch for just a moment before pulling away.

"So," Quentin says, clearing his throat. He puts back up a mask of carefully constructed confidence. It's so unfitting on his face, but somehow not. He always thought Quentin should be more confident. "Eliot Waugh–do you love me?"

Eliot swallows thickly. "Do you even need to ask?"

"Yes," Quentin replies easily.

And he's right–he deserves to hear those three words. Eliot smiles shakily. "I love you, Q."

"I–" Quentin smiles, looking away. He takes a moment to compose himself before looking back. He clears his throat, again. "I love you, too," he says. "And I think we work–better than I've ever seen two people work together."

He pauses for just a moment.

"Excluding you and Margo," he adds as an afterthought.

Eliot laughs sharply because fuck, how could someone be so perfect?

"I'm only going to ask you this one last time, and never–never again, okay?" Quentin reaches out and cups Eliot's face, and he feels like his skin is on fire in the best way possible. He wants to kiss Quentin–more than anything–but he waits patiently. "Do you want to give us a shot?"

Eliot nods, just barely. "Yes," he whispers. "More than anything."

They kiss, but not for long because soon they're both sobbing in each other's arms. Overwhelmed with relief and happiness and _love_.


End file.
